


Meet-Cute at the Murder Cafe'

by LilKrissMuffet



Series: Boyfriend 2 DIE 4 [1]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Bondage, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gross, Knifeplay, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, Warning: Strade (Boyfriend to Death)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilKrissMuffet/pseuds/LilKrissMuffet
Summary: Strade sees something he likes at his local coffee shop one lazy afternoon.I am fully aware that this is gross and I am gross for writing it. Seriously though, someone please help me why am I so in love with this asshole?Feedback welcome!<3
Relationships: Strade (BTD/TNR)/Reader
Series: Boyfriend 2 DIE 4 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819693
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	1. Cute Meat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfic of any kind. I realize that it's extremely self-indulgent and that Strade may be a tad ooc here. Maybe not, you tell me. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Or be repulsed, either one is fine. 
> 
> :)

I. The Cafe’

Acoustic guitar music, soft and utterly non-threatening, intermingled with the sound of light conversation, the aroma of coffee beans and fresh-baked pastries wafting through the air. This was just the sort of relaxing environment to get some real work done. Sighing contentedly, she slid into the booth in the farthest corner of the cafe and pulled her sketchbook out of her bag. She had been neglecting her art for years now, but that’s what having a full-time job does to someone like her, she supposed. Saps them of their time and energy, until that desire to create whittles away to nothing. She shook away the unpleasant thought.

Today was her day off and, feeling adventurous, she had decided to check out the trendy new coffee shop downtown on a whim. Immediately charmed by the vintage decor and warm atmosphere, she had a good feeling about coming here. She didn’t even notice the hungry pair of amber-colored eyes following her as she made her way to her table, sharply focused on the small, shy woman sitting alone and no doubt feeling secure in a seemingly-safe environment. The man these eyes belonged to finished his coffee and smiled to himself. He had a good feeling about coming here too.

At the back of the cafe, the woman settled comfortably into her seat, her sketchbook propped against the table’s edge, and her pen moving at a decent pace. Her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a sure sign she was really into her work. She had missed this. Lost in her thoughts, she inhaled sharply and her head snapped up at the sound of a voice directly in front of her. 

“Hey there!” Friendly, cheerful, a distinct foreign accent. Swedish, maybe? No. German, for sure. It sounded to her more like Hey “zair.”

Seeing her surprised expression and tense posture, the man smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, buddy.” She relaxed, returning the smile. “It’s alright...I guess I wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me.” 

She cringed. God, she sounded so pathetic. She straightened up and smoothed her hair. The guy was attractive in a rugged, outdoorsy way. Average height and build, but noticeably muscular arms and tanned skin. His unkempt brown hair was a little greasy looking, but his charming smile and kind eyes more than made up for that. She gently bit her lower lip and tried to think of something cute to say next, but he spoke first.

“Oh, I saw you sitting by yourself and thought you might like some company!”

“That would be nice..”, she replied, glancing down at her half-finished drawing. “I was just doing some work, but I could use a break!”

“ _Wunderbar!_ Would you like a coffee? My treat!”, he offered, grinning widely. There was something a little disconcerting about it but she couldn’t bring herself to outright refuse him.

“But I don’t even know your name..”, she began.

“Oh _ja_ , I’m Strade!”

He reached out a strong-looking hand for her to shake. It felt rough, like he was no stranger to manual labor, but warm and somehow comforting. She suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like for those hands to touch her in _other_ places..

“Nice to meet you, Strade. I’m Y/N.”

“That’s a pretty name, _schatzi.”_ His eyes lowered to scan her body before returning to her face. “Would you like that coffee now that we’re no longer strangers?”, he laughed warmly, lightly touching her arm. She shivered. “I actually don’t drink coffee..”, she insisted.

“That’s OK! Maybe a hot cocoa is more your style?”, Strade suggested. Not one to resist chocolate in any form, she agreed politely. A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs of cocoa, hers with a generous dollop of whipped cream on top. Her eyes lit up and she thanked him sincerely. He waved his hand and moved to sit down, but instead of pulling out the chair across from her, he slid into the booth with no hesitation. A little caught off guard, she scrambled over to give him room but he only moved closer. His thigh pressed up against hers and their elbows touched. A faint blush crept into her cheeks. She could feel him looking at her.

Y/N brought her mug up to her lips and inhaled the sweet, cinnamony aroma. A bit of whipped cream got on the tip of her nose and Strade chuckled, wiping it off with his finger and offering it to her. She started to shake her head, but he pushed it into her mouth, laughing maybe a bit harder than felt appropriate. She began to feel the first nagging pinpricks of fear, but remained interested. So what if he was a little quirky?

“Haha! Hey!”, she played along, whacking his shoulder in mock protest. After that, conversation flowed a little more freely. They told each other things about themselves they thought the other would want to hear. She shared details about her wearisome job and her beloved pets, even whipping out her phone to show off a photo or two like a proud mother. Strade ooh-ed and aww-ed satisfactorily and commiserated with her about work. He seemed so genuine and sweet, listening attentively without a hint of judgement. 

On the other hand, he shared precious few tidbits about himself. He was 34, single, lived with one roommate. Nothing unusual. What perked her ears up was his casual mention that he made a living as an independent film-maker.

“What kind of films?”, she had asked, intrigued. He thought for a moment. “It depends...on the situation.” Before she could ask what he meant by that, he had snatched her sketchbook from her lap to look at her drawing. It was little more than a doodle, and she suddenly felt embarrassed. A failed artist couldn’t possibly compare to an experienced filmmaker who had apparently funded his own projects and built his own home studio. He eyed it curiously.

“I see you are an artist too.” His tone was not mocking in the least and she felt a bit better. “Hah...yeah, sort of. It’s more of a hobby than anything. I’m really not good at-”

Strade cut her off, clapping an insistent hand on her shoulder. “Nonsense, _meine_ _freundin!_ I can tell when someone has...potential. Tell me what you see.” He pointed to the drawing, but kept his eyes trained on her face. She wrinkled her nose, and looked back at him with a shrug. “It’s just scribbles, Strade. I can’t, like, draw real portraits or anything.” He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Well...I see two people, two _artists_ , having a good time together. They may not know each other that well but..they _could_.”

With those last two words he leaned closer, deftly curling his arm around her. His hand snuck beneath the cropped hem of her sweater to rest on her bare waist. She startled, her grip on her mostly empty mug tightening. Her mind began to crackle with fear at the way he was touching her. They had only just met an hour or so ago and it all felt wrong. It felt dangerous. Still..she made no attempt to stop him. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted him to. Not after that adorably cheesy pick-up line!

With his other hand, he pushed a lock of her H/C hair away from her face. He was so close, she could feel his warm breath on her ear. He smelled of sweat and machine oil and...something else. Metallic. Not entirely unpleasant. Strade must have felt her tense up because he spoke to her next in a low, soothing voice, almost a purr.

“Don’t be afraid, _mein kleine hase_..I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Somehow she doubted that, and she pulled away from his arm as much as he would allow.

“Strade, I can’t.. We can’t do this. I don’t know you, so please stop.”

Her tone was pleading, a little frightened. He loved it when they were like that. Begging him to stop. He really had chosen well.

“Oh, come on..I can tell how you’re feeling, Y/N. You’re breathing a little bit _quicker_...your heart is beating a little bit _harder_...and your pretty face is... _blushing.”_ He trailed a fingertip lightly down her cheek. Defeated, she turned back towards him, feeling helpless. As much as she knew that she should throw the rest of her drink in his face and make a run for it, part of her, a pretty big part, desperately wanted him to tear her clothes off and have his way with her right there on that table. She swallowed her doubt and made a small noise of affirmation.

Strade’s toothy grin widened, a look of smug triumph briefly flashing across his handsome features. She was somewhat alarmed to notice that his smile resembled that of a hungry wolf.

“Hah...see? I knew you liked me.” He chuckled a little, his hand steadily creeping further up her waist towards her breast. She threw a furtive glance around to make sure that nobody was staring at them, but they were well hidden in the dimly lit back of the cafe. Strade didn’t seem to care much about that sort of thing anyway. He oozed confidence. She felt the building heat in her lower belly begin to pool between her thighs and she began to shift them back and forth, restlessly.

“Mmm. _.reizend,”_ Strade growled, moving down to her neck and pressing his lips against the sensitive spot right below her ear. She made a small mewling sound and he slid his hand up further, cupping her breast and squeezing possessively. His other hand crept along her thigh and she closed her eyes in anticipation of what he may do next, but he had stopped. A mix of relief and dismay shook her from from her reverie, a strange combination.

“Eh...This won’t do. Not with all these people around.”, Strade grumbled. He gestured towards the other tables, but the day was winding down and there was hardly anyone else there save for the barista distracted by her phone and her back was facing them.

Y/N was puzzled. “But there’s nobody-” she started but he cut her off.

“I know! Why don’t you come home with me? We can..get to know each other a little bit better there, _ja?”_

He smiled expectantly at her, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms. He looked like an excited little boy begging his parents to take him to the amusement park. Her heart melted. How could she refuse him now when he looked so cute? So..harmless? His honey-colored eyes glinted when she nodded in agreement and took his hand. He led her out of the cafe doors with a hand on her lower back like a high-school sweetheart. He even offered to carry her bag. 

II. Going Home

“Ah... _liebling_ , I’m going to have so much fun with you.”, Strade mused, steering her towards an expensive-looking luxury sedan once they were in the parking lot. He opened the passenger side door for her, like a gentleman, and she climbed inside, marveling at the gorgeous interior. Strade had to be loaded. She peered over his shoulder for one last glimpse of the building. She suddenly couldn’t help but feel she was making a grave mistake by leaving the safety of a public place with a stranger, albeit a _very_ charming one. His eyes never left hers.

“Buckle up!”, he barked cheerily and banged the door shut like a nail in a coffin.

She secured her seatbelt while Strade fumbled with the radio, and then they were on their way...to where?, she wondered. Where did this guy live? All thoughts on the subject dissolved as her gaze wandered to the spot on her door where a handle should be. There wasn’t one. Her face went white and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Um..Strade? This door has no handle. Why is that?” She forced her shaky voice to sound as calm as possible. Surely there must be an explanation for something so strange.

“Oh _ja_ , it’s a bit funny isn’t it?” Strade chuckled good-naturedly. “Well you see, this car’s previous owner had it custom-made that way. I didn’t notice until after I bought it. But don’t worry. I’ll let you out once we get home!” He flashed that winning grin at her, one easy hand on the wheel, and she smiled weakly back.

This whole deal was becoming more sketchy by the minute and she felt pangs of regret eating away at her gut. As if he could read her mind, Strade put a reassuring hand on her knee, patting it gently.

“You’re not scared, are you Y/N? I just want to get to know you better.” 

There it was again. That innocent line that got her into his car in the first place. His expression showed concern. “No, I’m fine!”, she insisted, though her insides were alight with silent panic. 

“Good girl,”, he said and pulled into the garage of a sizable suburban home surrounded by a high picket fence. It looked to be the kind of house where an upper class white family would invite the whole neighborhood over to play lawn darts and drink wine coolers. It didn’t seem to fit him at all. Strade got out of the car and she waited for him to let her out with her hands folded in her lap like an obedient child.

“Here we are! Home sweet home..”, Strade gestured to his living room once they were inside, his voice dropping ominously on the last words. The room was immaculate, with a crisp white leather sofa, a plush cream-colored rug on a hardwood floor, and tasteful framed paintings on the walls. She cautiously stepped forward to study the painting hanging over the sofa while he hung their things in the foyer closet.

The artwork was oddly familiar to her but the realization that it may be an original from a well-known artist was cut short by the sensation of her body being violently knocked sideways, her right shoulder smashing into the wall. 

Strade had her pinned down with his hands planted firmly on either side of her head, barring her in. He towered over her, grinding his hips slowly against her, and she was horrified to feel something thick and hard pressing into her lower belly. She called out his name in surprise and fear, raising her hands up to try to push him away. Strade just laughed and easily grabbed both of them with one of his own. He yanked them up painfully above her head, squeezing her wrists hard enough to make her fingers tingle.

“Ah-ah-ah!”, he scolded, moving his free hand to her throat. “Let me have my fun.”

He then kissed her, hard, forcing the back of her head against the wall. His hot tongue invaded her small mouth and he bit at her lower lip with his teeth, muffling her cries of protest. She could still taste his hot chocolate. As he sloppily worked his tongue further into her mouth, he began to apply pressure to her neck. She broke into a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, but then Strade pulled back with a lecherous groan, allowing air to rush back into her lungs. She gasped, noting that he was breathing hard too. His face and neck were flushed and he was staring hungrily into her eyes like she was the first meal he’d had in weeks. He was practically drooling.

“Wha...I didn’t..expect..you to be..that rough. _”_ , she panted, trying to catch her breath. His expression darkened. “Oh Y/N, you have _no idea.”_ His eyes lit up and he seized a chunk of her hair near the roots, whipping her to the floor. Her forehead cracked against the glossy wood and she saw stars.

Disoriented and momentarily blinded with pain, she managed to turn her face to the side just enough to see Strade grinning like a lunatic as he loomed above.

_Like a predator standing over its kill_ , she thought and blacked out.

III. The Basement

Y/N suddenly jerked awake as she felt one of Strade’s heavy work boots connect roughly with her lower leg. Gasping audibly, she lifted her head and drew her knees up towards her chest. She tried to instinctively cover herself with her hands but realized that they were bound tightly behind her back. She was sitting propped up against some sort of pillar and Strade was crouched down in front of her, uncomfortably close and smiling warmly at her as if they were old friends.

“Rise and shine, Y/N! Time to wake up!”, he called cheerfully, patting her cheek. She tried to shake off the grogginess, registering the splitting ache in her forehead and the sore, stiff sensation in her right shoulder. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell was going on, but only managed to make a choked sort of croaking sound. Her throat was so dry. Strade tilted his head to the side. “I’ll just give you a moment to ah...adjust.” He reached over and began to fiddle with a lock of her hair while she looked around, trying to gauge her surroundings.

They appeared to be in a basement, mostly dark except for a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It called to mind an interrogation scene from an old film noir. There was that same metallic smell from earlier, but now it was much stronger. Overwhelming, even.

Behind Strade she saw overhead cabinets and a matching worktable strewn with an assortment of carpentry tools. Among them were a hammer, a large heavy-duty handsaw, and a battery-powered drill..but no actual wood in sight. There was however, something else standing off to the side. Was that a video camera on a tripod? It was too dark to tell.

To the left of the table, she saw a flight of stairs leading up into the shadows. Was that her only way out? Strade patiently watched her look around with a curious eye, all the while smiling lazily as he continued to twirl her hair in his fingers. She studied the cold, concrete floor and shuddered. A multitude of dark stains marred the surface, concentrated directly underneath her and spreading out from there. She swallowed thickly, attempting to push her worst assumptions aside. It was just dirty, that’s all.

“Water”, she finally managed to murmur, not looking up at her captor.

“Hm? Thirsty? I’ll be right back!” Strade jumped up and disappeared into the darkness, returning with some kind of sports drink in a plastic bottle. She perked up at the sight, but wondered how she was going to drink it with her hands tied up. “It’s cherry flavor!”, he said brightly, reading the label.

“Open up, _schatzi!_ “, he trilled out in a sing-song voice as he slowly poured the icy red liquid into her parched mouth from a standing position. As a result, about half of the contents dribbled all down the front of her sweater, soaking it through and drenching her heaving breasts. 

She choked down as much as she could, relieved to get some much-needed moisture into her system. She licked her lips and looked up at Strade. He tossed the empty bottle aside and knelt down to her level once more, his gaze unbroken. It was unnerving. And he never. Stopped. Smiling.

“What..why am I tied up? Are you really _that_ kinky?”, she half-giggled, trying desperately to calm her swiftly rising panic. He laughed out loud and gripped her face in his hand.

“Hmm..You could say that. You and I are going to have a very... _intimate_ experience either way.” He glanced down at her chest and ruined top. “Oh no! What a mess..that’s my fault.” He grabbed the front of her sweater with one hand and then, to her horror, pulled out a large, threatening hunting knife with the other. “Now we don’t want you catching a cold, so let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” Her eyes widened in fear.

“W-Wait! No, don-”, she stammered as Strade swiftly sliced downward through the soaked fabric, letting the pieces fall open like a cardigan. She was wearing a white lace bra which was now of course stained crimson from the spill. He whistled through his teeth as he drank in the sight of her glistening cleavage and bare stomach. His eyes narrowed and his lips curved up in a coy smile.

“Ohh...look at _this._..fancy underthings for just a coffee break, _ja?”_ , he leered, leaning forward and pressing the flat of his blade between her breasts. She whimpered and tried to turn her face away, but he forced her to look him in the eyes as he licked the excess juice from her face.

“I-I...”, she stuttered, struggling to find the words to appease this psychopath, but Strade kissed her instead, more gently this time. “I’m glad you dressed up for me, _liebling_. You’re just so...cute.” 

She squirmed and made small soft noises of protest as he worked his mouth down her throat and chest, enjoying the cherry flavor mingling with the taste of her salty skin. He hummed happily, noisily slurping at her flesh and sounding very pleased. As his hand not holding the knife began to wander, she barely suppressed a soft moan, her body betraying her truer feelings of fear and disgust under his greedy touch.

He laughed darkly against her chest, dragging his tongue through her cleavage and lightly scraping his knife across her stomach, leaving harsh red scratches but not really breaking the skin just yet. He had sidled so close he was practically in her lap, straddling her legs and groping every inch of her trembling form he could get his free hand on. His tongue lapped at her sensitive throat, playfully biting down every now and again.

Despite her fear, his ministrations were now drawing loud, needy moans out of her tired lungs, her desire for this abhorrent, greasy man infecting her mind like a disease. His accent was stoking her fire and the few German words and phrases he hissed into her ear were even more sexy because she couldn’t understand them. She couldn’t understand _him,_ and certainly not herself for actually enjoying this bizarre encounter.

Strade’s hunting knife gradually began to press deeper into her stomach, cutting random slices into her flesh that quickly welled up with fat drops of bright, red blood. He leaned back to admire his handiwork, smearing it all the way up to her collarbones with his hands like some kind of fucked-up finger painting. 

“Mmm..” He ran his tongue over his teeth, fixating on her with eyes hooded with lust and something else that scared her to think about. Something evil. He held one hand up in front of her face.

“Want a taste? I bet you’re so yummy...”, Strade purred, and forced his bloody fingers into her partially open mouth, mirroring the more innocent whipped cream incident from forever ago. "...but I know something even better...”, he whispered, pulling his fingers back with an audible popping sound. 

He began undoing his belt, the diamond-shaped buckle faintly reflecting the overhead light. She noted the generous bulge of his cock tenting his khaki pants and as soon as it was released, thick and rock-hard in her face, she felt a stab of cold fear in her gut. He was massive.

“Come on now, I know you’re hungry..” he growled, grabbing her by her hair and holding the knife at her jawline. He pushed forward and her lips parted, pliantly allowing just the head to slide into her warm, wet mouth. “Use your tongue, _kleine maus._.lick it clean.”, he ordered, poking the tip of his blade into her cheek when she showed hesitation. She obediently curled her tongue around his throbbing shaft as he thrusted deeper into her mouth. 

His breathing became ragged and his grip on her hair grew painfully tight as he fucked her throat at a brutal pace. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried not to choke, her head starting to swim, but to her surprise he slowed to a stop before reaching his end. 

“Ah...fuck..this is not enough.”

She looked up at his words, catching a cruel sparkle in his eyes. Without warning, he stabbed the knife downward, slamming it deep into the meat of her thigh, at the same time pulling out of her mouth in time to hear his favorite sound. Her wild scream of agony echoed off the unseen concrete walls of the basement, tearing through the brief silence, then tapered down into messy sobs. Strade roughly yanked the knife out of her leg, spraying blood on the front of his shirt. He then attempted to comfort her by petting her hair and whispering encouragingly in her ear.

“Oh _liebling_ , you’re such a good pet..you’re doing so well..”, he cooed as fresh blood seeped out of the wound. “But you’re getting me a little _too_ excited..”

A wave of dizziness from the sudden loss of blood and her own unslaked lust threatened to pull her under and so she didn’t respond. He caressed her face, smearing more of her own blood on her cheeks like war paint. His tone gained an impatient edge. 

“I want to hear more of that pretty _voice!”,_ he snarled and proceeded to jam two fingers into the now gushing hole in her thigh, earning him another pained shriek from her shredded throat. He twisted them around a bit, enjoying the feel of her blood spilling over his hand.

He thought she sounded like a dying animal. Perfect.

IV. Sanity Meter (Running Low)

Strade circled around the pillar and cut the zip-tie holding her wrists together but before she could move, he shoved her down onto her back, ripping the remains of her sweater from her shoulders. He violently tore through the delicate lace of her bra with his bare hands, and felt up her exposed breasts, reveling in her frightened cries and frantic heartbeat. He pulled her shorts down leaving her in nothing but her matching lace underwear. He paused to drag his languid gaze up and down her quivering, bleeding figure and smiled dreamily.

“So beautiful...”, he muttered under his breath. Then, as if breaking from a trance, he shook his head. “But you won’t last long enough like that...” he reasoned, and wrapped a piece of her torn sweater around her thigh to slow the bleeding. _“Ich werde das hier auskosten”_ , he continued, locking eyes with hers as he pulled the knot tight on his makeshift tourniquet, making her wince. 

“That should do for now. In the meantime..you don’t need these.”, Strade said as he slid the flat side of his knife through the waistband of her panties, not caring to avoid cutting her skin. With a snap of his wrist, they too were on the floor.

Y/N just lay there, breathing heavily, her face and chest flushed with need as he observed with some surprise how aroused she seemed to be. Arching an eyebrow in amusement, he leaned down between her parted thighs. 

“You’re very wet...after all I’ve done to you? Hah! My little buddy is quite the glutton for punishment!”, he laughed derisively and licked his chops like a hungry feline. Some of the blood from the cuts on her midsection was starting to trickle down between her legs and he eagerly moved forward to lick it up. She hissed in a breath, exhaling a ragged moan as his hot tongue swiped against her swollen clit. Humming with approval, Strade continued to lather her aching pussy with rough, frustratingly slow strokes.

He gazed wantonly up at her blushing, tear-streaked face, his pupils dilated. He dug his nails into the soft undersides of her thighs, nearly drawing yet more blood and causing her to yelp in mixed pain and pleasure, the stabbing pain of her leg wound now nearly forgotten. She writhed from side to side, nearing her climax, and reached forward to touch the matted hair that was hanging in his face.

“I’m-gonna-...ahhnn...Strade, don’t-st-”, but sure enough, he immediately stopped what he was doing and lifted his head to relish the delicious look of disappointment on her face. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back. “That’s enough of that.”

She let out a high, unhappy mewl of discontentment, furrowing her brow as she tried to glare as hard as she could at him. His sadistic grin and manic eyes practically glowed in the shadows as he unbuttoned his shirt. She gasped quietly at his broad, masculine chest, his tanned skin shining with sweat. 

He looked like he could tear her in half if he wanted to, and she was pretty sure he did.

She chewed her lip and he laughed smugly, his cock still fully erect and twitching with anticipation. He bent down and scooped up his knife from the ground, slowly carving a deep line into her one unhurt thigh. He bathed his hand in the blood that poured from the cut and then, to her disgust and horror, began stroking himself with it, using her blood as a kind of lubricant.

He crawled over and yanked her head back by her hair, biting down hard on her neck while dragging his knife messily up her hip and ribcage. She cried out, grabbing weakly onto his shoulders. He then pulled her up into a seated position on his lap, his bloody cock pressing into the cuts on her belly. She wanted him so badly by this point, and it was clear that he was getting off on denying her, drawing out the whole affair. He kissed her forcefully and growled into her mouth.

“Admit it, _kätzchen._ There is something you want, _ja?_ Don’t hold anything back from me.”

She whimpered, too afraid to ask this monster of a human being to fuck her. Too ashamed of her own desire. She felt filthy.

V. Sanity Meter (Empty)

“You should never hide who you truly are, Y/N.”, Strade panted between sloppy licks and bites along her jaw, nipping at her earlobes. He was cutting deeper into her side, but she barely noticed the blood running in rivulets down her waist. She found herself growing delirious from blood loss, insane with lust. The situation was impossibly erotic, unlike anything she had ever endured before. Her heart hammered between their chests and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

It was hard to believe the charming man that whisked her away from a quiet afternoon at the coffee shop could so suddenly become this depraved, monstrous... _thing_ that was ravaging her body and gleefully spilling her blood like some kind of feral beast. Yet here he was, trying to push her into embracing the same creature he knew lay sleeping within her shy, sweet little heart. 

“Never hide”, he had told her, and perhaps he was right.

“Well...?”, Strade whispered, his voice thick with want, into her tangled hair.

“Hhh..fuckme..” It came out as little more than a squeak, small and meek.

_“What was that?”,_ he asked, his voice rising excitedly. He seized the back of her neck and stared intensely into her eyes, their foreheads nearly touching. This time she did not look away.

“FUCK ME, STRADE.”, she said clearly. Not asking now, but demanding. His eyes burned as they narrowed into slits and he bared his teeth.

“Oh ho...that’s more like it.”

Without another word, he twisted her around in his lap, and lifted her up by her legs, hands under her knees, only to impale her to the hilt on all eight inches of his throbbing length. He gave her no time to adjust to his size and absolutely zero mercy as he rammed into her over and over again in a savage, erratic rhythm. All the way in and all the way out while an obscenely wet, slapping sound filled the air with each impact. 

The way he was manhandling her was sure to leave bruises, a badge of honor for any plaything of Strade's. He leaned back slightly to try to bury himself deeper and she screamed out his name, completely unhinged now, as he pounded her abused cunt into oblivion. 

She had wanted this so much that it hurt and now the pleasure was truly unreal. She felt her body sailing quickly towards that dangerous edge, the point of no return. She reached down between her legs to hurry it along but Strade snatched her hand away, growling angrily against her shoulder. 

“You will cum only when I _let_ you.” 

“Wha...? Strade- _pleease_...let mee...I’m ah...so close!”, she whined.

“You really want to cum, huh?”, he snarled. “Here!” and with that he lunged forward, viciously slamming her down to the floor and grinding her cheek against the concrete. Still deep inside her, his pace was unrelenting and he barely missed a beat. He arched far over her back, panting and growling next to her ear like an animal in heat, one hand entwined in her hair, pushing her head down, the other locked in a vise-grip on her hip, effectively fucking her into the ground. 

She could actually smell the blood on the cold concrete. How many others had he done this to?...she wondered vaguely as he sank his teeth deep into her sore shoulder, punctuating each sharp thrust with the inhuman sounds bubbling up from deep within in his throat.

_“Du gehorst mir, liebling...Ich werde dich ruineren...”_

Her vision began to go white and she became dimly aware of the blood leaking through her sweater from her leg wound. “Ahhhnnn....ahhh!! Strade..it _hurts!!”_ She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Good!”, Strade barked. “You’re much cuter when you’re in pain..”

He grabbed his knife again and began slicing shallowly into her back, making her moans even more loud and desperate. “No...ah...please don’t cut me anymore!” she begged him as he lapped up the blood pooling between her shoulder blades.

_“Hahh._..You’re so...Fffucking.... _tight!!_ I can taste...your...adrenaline..."

His thrusts intensified, becoming more sporadic as he reached his peak. He swiftly pulled out and shot his load all over her ass and back where it mixed with her blood in a repulsive pink froth.

She wasn’t done though, and he knew it. Perhaps he even meant for it to happen that way. He playfully smacked her ass. 

“I like you, buddy! You’re a lot of fun.” 

His tone was more fitting for a friendly game of Tic-Tac-Toe, than for furious, animalistic sex with extremely questionable consent.

Letting out a long satisfied exhale, Strade straightened himself up, stretching, and wiped up some of the mess, cleaning the knife with his own shirt. Y/N flopped over in exhaustion, bruised and still bleeding everywhere from various cuts by his hand. He looked her over, gauging the severity of her wounds, and removed the tourniquet from the worst one. It was now an angry, red gash smeared in coagulated blood, but still dripping.

“Aww..let me take care of that for you.”, he offered, smiling sweetly. He had already come back to himself from the heights of twisted perversion he had climbed only moments ago. He got up and retrieved a small first-aid kit from the cabinet and then set to work stitching up the deep wounds on her legs. It was acutely painful, but he moved quickly and efficiently, as if he’d done it a million times before. She wasn’t at all surprised by this.

“There we go! All better!”, he said as he pulled the last suture tight and snipped the thread. He propped her back up against the pillar and carelessly splashed rubbing alcohol over her legs, causing her to hiss sharply at the intense burn. When she had quieted her breath, she looked up questioningly at Strade who was busy zip-tying her hands back in place. 

“Can I go home now?”, she asked meekly, without much hope.

Strade paused, raising his eyebrows and cackled like she had just told him the funniest joke in the world. 

“Bahaha...oh, you’re a funny little one, aren’t you?”, he sighed and booped her nose with one finger.

“Maybe next time, I’ll let you cum!”, he said cheerfully, gathering his things and turning to walk up the stairs.

Her teeth clenched. NEXT TIME?!

“Wait a minute!! Straaaade, you _fucking asshole!!_ Get back here!! You can’t just fucking leave meeee!!!", she screamed after him, enraged. Her voice was hoarse and her body was on fire in more ways than one.

“Get some rest, Y/N. Tomorrow is another day.”

He smiled affectionately at her over his shoulder and flipped the light switch at the top of the stairs, slamming the door heavily. She sat there seething with hatred in total darkness, cold, alone, and sexually frustrated. She finally hung her head and drifted into an uneasy slumber. As her heartbeat slowed, her last thought of the night was that she hoped to dream of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key (courtesy of Google Translate, mostly lol)
> 
> wunderbar - wonderful
> 
> ja - yes
> 
> schatzi - term of endearment, honey, dear, etc.
> 
> meine freundin - my friend (female), can refer to a "girlfriend" ;)
> 
> mein kleine hase - my little bunny
> 
> reizend - lovely, cute
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite (get ready to see this a lot!)
> 
> kleine maus - little mouse
> 
> Ich werde das hier auskosten. - I'm gonna savor this.
> 
> Du gehorst mir, liebling - You are mine, darling.
> 
> Ich werde dich ruineren. - I will ruin you.


	2. Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Day 2 in Strade's basement and he decides to try out some of his..."toys" on our little protagonist. Hi-jinks ensue...but she can't seem to stay mad at him.

VI. Breakfast

Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, swaying to and fro like a rotting tree on a blustery day that threatens to topple over if hit in just the right spot. Amazingly, she had slept through most of the night, but actually feeling rested was another story. After hours of sitting tied up, naked, and covered in various fluids (only some of which were her own!) that only seemed like a joke. She sported small cuts and bruises all over her stomach, back, and ribs, as well as two much larger, stitched-up wounds on the tops of each thigh, all of which had been expertly executed and then cared for so as not to allow her to bleed out. God forbid she maybe escape somewhat painlessly from that maddeningly cheery, walking nightmare. That wouldn’t be enough of a good time for Strade.

These and a jumble of other fleeting thoughts rolled around in her sleepy mind, some coherent, others not so much. Most of them went along the lines of “This really hurts”, or “Will he feed me?” or even “Shit, I won’t be able to go to work today” but there were a few that were encroaching on unfamiliar, more disturbing territory. It was true, she hated Strade. She had fallen asleep hating him viscerally, for hurting her, for giving her scars (physical and mental) that would never go away, and for keeping her in this dark, musty hellhole of a basement. She even hated him for so callously ruining her nice expensive white lace lingerie set that she had treated herself to one day while out shopping with a friend.

However, underneath all of that fiery loathing filling her heart lay a glimmer of something she didn’t quite have a name for. She hated herself for still being hopelessly attracted to him. It was difficult for her to keep her eyes shut without seeing those piercing, deceptively kind eyes the color of slightly tarnished gold, or that confident, easy grin that could so quickly transform into something truly terrible. His uninhibited, infectious laugh echoed in her ears. Thinking about him made her whole body shudder in a way that she wasn’t sure was bad or good. She found herself wanting him to come back downstairs to finish what he started, to whisper those strange German pet names into her ear. At least then she wouldn’t be alone anymore. Being by herself down here was somehow more terrifying than when Strade _was_ there, raking his damned hunting knife all over her sensitive skin.

It was quiet except for the droning hum of what sounded like a refrigerator. Occasionally she could hear footsteps coming from upstairs but other than that it was silent as the grave. In her exhausted delirium she couldn’t help but hallucinate, seeing hundreds of strange amorphous creatures crawling out of the shadows towards her, like a spreading pool of black liquid. She had wanted to scream but her throat was too sore from all the noise she had been making when Strade was...having his fun. Besides, it might make him mad. She hated to think what he may do then, considering he had seemed pretty fucking jovial while he was pounding her into the ground as she knelt in a puddle of her own blood.

Her semi-lucid moment of contemplation was then rudely extinguished by a torrent of bracingly cold water crashing into her like an errant wave. This time she did scream, now very much awake. She spluttered, her drenched H/C hair hanging in her face and matting to her cheeks. She began to shiver, unable to see what was going on. She had a feeling though. She felt a hand parting the wet tendrils of her hair from her face like a curtain and she blinked the water from her eyes, trying to focus. “Peek-a-boo!”, Strade laughed cheerily, tucking her hair behind her ears and studying her face for a reaction. She forced her teeth to stop chattering, feeling her face heat up with rage.

“What the _fuck_ , Strade!”, she flinched as soon as the words left her mouth, afraid that he would hit her for mouthing off to him, but he only laughed harder, like an immature kid.

“I decided I should clean you up! You know, get you all fresh and ready for a new day!”

He reached down next to him where there was a plastic bucket and a dirty-looking towel lying crumpled on the floor. She narrowed her eyes. He had dumped a bucket of water on her with zero warning. Fucker. Still, he was looking pretty goo-

She mentally slapped herself. No! No! No way in hell he was going to get away with pulling a stunt like this just because he was hot. She added an edgy snark to her tone.

“What do you mean, _clean?_ Just to mess me up again?" He smirked at her, catching on quick.

“Well, it’s the least I could do after I was so rude to you last night. You’ll have to forgive me, I tend to forget my manners whenever I bring a new friend home. It just gets me so.... _excited_ , you know?” Oh, she knew.

“Did you sleep well?”, he asked conversationally as he leaned closer, balancing himself with one hand on her thigh and began to dry her off with the towel, wiping away most of the dried blood. Upon closer inspection she could see that it was riddled with blood stains that had faded to a rusty brown color, just like the ones all over the floor underneath her. She thought about protesting him touching her with something so gross, but he was actually being...gentle. Surprisingly so. Tender, even.

“Uh...sure. Yeah.” she replied distractedly. She watched him, listening as he hummed a jaunty tune, and as he raised the cloth to her face, their eyes met. She found herself holding her breath, unable to look anywhere else. He caressed her cheek with the towel, removing the blood as well as the smeared mascara that had dripped down from her eyes along with her frightened tears the night before.

“Breathe, _liebling._ I don’t want you passing out on me.”, he said in a low voice, giving her thigh a harsh squeeze near the stitches.

She inhaled deeply, lightheaded. Had she been mesmerized? She supposed that was the kind of effect Strade had on her. He lightly slapped her leg when he was done and stood up, turning to his worktable. He returned holding a small plate of food; a single burnt and shriveled strip of bacon and a half-eaten slice of dry toast. Despite how unappealing it looked, her mouth immediately began to water. She was starving! Strade sat down on the floor in front of her and gave her a friendly smile.

“My roommate Ren made breakfast this morning and I thought you might like some!” She eyed the plate hungrily.

"Yes, I would.”, she replied, trying not to drool or sound too eager. With her luck, if Strade knew she really wanted the food he might do something cruel, like eat it all himself right in front of her..or worse. He did indeed have a dangerous look in his eye, as if daring her to step out of line.

“Of course, you must be hungry.” He made no move to untie her wrists though, and she wriggled a little in her bonds in an effort to get his attention. He got the message.

“Although...I thought it would be more fun if I fed you...like a little puppy dog!" Strade chuckled and waved the piece of bacon in front of her face, so close she could smell its smoky aroma. She leaned forward and opened her mouth, waiting for him to let her take a bite, but he held it back.

“Now you’ve forgotten _your_ manners, _unhöfliches Mädchen_. Your tongue is practically hanging out of your dirty little mouth.” He sounded annoyed but his smile hadn’t faltered. He was enjoying this. She mumbled an apology and closed her mouth, casting her eyes back downward at the plate in his hand.

“That’s better. Now say “please.” She obeyed, growing a tad impatient, her empty stomach now rumbling noisily. “Very good. Now say “Ahh!” Strade held the food to her lips and fed her, allowing his fingers to linger on her tongue once she had gotten to the end, locking eyes with hers as she licked them clean. The bacon was indeed burnt-tasting and very dry but she was too grateful for something to eat to care too much. He repeated the same process with the toast, watching her chew and swallow with bright eyes that were clearly up to something that probably wasn’t good. When she had finished eating, he got to his feet and clapped his hands together once, startling her.

“OK! Now that you’ve had your breakfast, shall we get started?”

VII. An Experiment

Y/N looked anxiously up at Strade, confused. “Started with what?”, she ventured. What was he planning to do to her now?

“Oh _ja,_ I thought of some fun activities we could do today! Just the two of us..”, he finished, gazing wistfully down at her. She nervously looked off to the side, as if trying to see what he was talking about.

“Let me show you!”, Strade continued and grabbed some things from his worktable. He turned back to her with his hands hidden behind his back, grinning mischievously.

“So, I want to do a little...experiment. You’ll be my assistant! Now, you choose: left or right?” She fidgeted on the floor, growing wary.

“Um...left?”, she responded, unsure of what exactly she was picking. Strade nodded, slowly revealing the object from behind his left side. She squinted, trying to get a better look in the dim lighting.

“Oooh...the nail gun. Nice choice, Y/N!” Her eyebrows flew up.

“Wait, what?! What are you-you’re not going to-”

“Patience, patience, _liebling._ I’m getting to it. You’re so eager!...I like that..” Strade’s voice trailed off into a growl as he moved closer to her. He reached around the pillar to undo her restraints, continuing in that same low tone.

“Don’t try anything stupid. I don’t want to have to hurt you...yet.” He sounded strangely serious and she froze up for a second.

“Yes, Strade.” she responded politely, terrified. Once her hands were free, he watched closely as she slowly brought them forward, shaking out her sore wrists. There were deep red rings in the skin from how tight the zip-ties were. Satisfied that she was going to cooperate, Strade ruffled her hair a bit.

“Good girl. Now, again. Right or left?” Y/N paused for a moment. “...Right”, she decided, though still hesitant. Strade held out his hand. “OK, give me your right hand”, he instructed and she reluctantly reached for it, flinching slightly when his fingers closed over hers. He held her hand for a minute, looking into her eyes, not blinking. The moment was tense and she felt her breath coming a little quicker. He started to lean towards her face like he was going in for a kiss, but then violently twisted her arm upwards and back so that her right hand lay flat against the wooden support beam she had been tied to, palm facing down.

She cried out at the sudden roughness and Strade smirked. “I’m sure you can guess what’s coming next, _ja?”_ , he said, brandishing the nail gun.

“Nononononopleasenono-” The words fell out of her mouth rapid-fire, but the more she pleaded, the more excited Strade looked. He hovered the gun over the back of her trembling hand as if to tease her, his eyes wide and glossy with anticipation. There was a deafening, metallic-sounding snap and then white-hot pain tore its way down her arm, forcing a broken scream from her throat. Strade let go of her wrist and examined the nail sticking halfway out of her hand, wiggling it slightly to make sure it wouldn’t give. Blood dripped from the puncture wound in a slow trickle. The force of the nail gun had probably shattered one or two of her fragile metacarpal bones, and the pain was immense but she fought back the tears. She knew Strade loved to see her cry.

“Ah...that’s in there nice and tight. Good job, buddy! Can you move your hand?”, he asked, lightly touching her arm and tracing the thin line of blood with one finger.

“Not really...it...it hurts too much..”, she answered quietly, choking back a sob. He ignored her response, fixating on her twitching fingers.

"Hmmm...I don't know...I think you could use another one. Or _two_." He pressed down on her arm and fired another nail into the spot halfway between her wrist and elbow. She groaned between tightly clenched teeth, refusing to give Strade the reaction he wanted, but it became even more difficult on the third one, driven deep into the muscle below her shoulder. Her breath hitched, eyes watering, threatening to spill over. Blood was now leaking in tiny rivers all along her up-stretched arm, running down between her breasts, and Strade had to resist the sudden urge to bury his face in there to slurp it up. After all, she still had one free hand to do. 

He held up the other item that he had been holding in his right hand, a battery-operated power-drill. The drill-bit’s sharp point caught the light from the florescent bulb hanging overhead, glinting threateningly.

“Great, now let’s do the other side! Really, _kätzchen_ , you’re a very good assistant. So helpful!” Strade praised her and pet the top of her head like she was a well-trained house pet. She could only sniffle and smile half-heartedly before he yanked her other arm into place against the opposite side of the beam. He leaned in close and whispered “Which do you think will hurt more?”, sliding the drill-bit slowly up her forearm and ghosting it over the back of her hand. He squeezed her wrist hard, making her wince.

“Please...don’t...”, she begged him in a barely audible whimper, her teary eyes wide with fear. He fastened a single long screw to the drill-bit, continuing to purr into her ear. She would have found it seductive were it not for the horrifying circumstances.

“Oh, but that would be no fun..That’s the whole point of the experiment, you silly girl...” She felt the pointed tip of the screw press harder into the thin skin of her hand and she closed her eyes, bracing herself. “Ready?”, he teased, leaning closer to her face and licking a stray tear from her cheek. Of course she wasn’t ready. She made a small noise and he pulled the trigger.

The loud, high-pitched whine of the power-drill was nearly drowned out by the agonized wail that escaped from deep within her lungs. Her entire left arm was almost immediately on fire, causing her right to throb even more as she tried not to thrash around. Blood sprayed from the new hole in her hand, raining down onto the two of them.

The drill stopped, only the sound of her ragged, shallow breathing remaining. Strade watched her for a moment, that sadistic smile curling across his face, and then drove the screw in a little further. Stop, start, stop, start. He kept going until the head of the screw lay flush with her skin, giggling to himself the whole time.

He waited, listening to her small, soft gasps of pain before he forced in another screw, this time all the way through her thumb, drilling more slowly so he could savor the sound of the delicate bone cracking.

"Ahhh... _hahhhh_...I don't think you'll be going anywhere now, _mein haustier."_

Heavy tears were spilling down her cheeks now with abandon. Her whole hand felt hot, so hot, so goddamn painful. It was all she could think about. She couldn’t scream anymore, could barely react. Strade had basically just crucified her in a sitting position, sans T-Pose. It was almost funny. She hung her head, giving herself permission to sob quietly as more blood fell from the fresh wounds. A faint scent of burnt flesh emanated from her mangled hand. Strade was still laughing. Of course he was.

He lifted her chin and she saw his eyes filled with concern, though that smile said otherwise. “Hey, Y/N! Are you still with me, _schatz?_ Tell me, what is your answer?” His free hand wandered leisurely up her inner thigh.

“Drill.”, she answered flatly, tired of his game. He smiled and made a low, satisfied noise in the back of his throat, happy with her response.

“I thought you might say that...”, Strade continued, running his fingers over the line of stitches in her leg, prodding at them like he was eager to open her up again. He leaned back, looking her over.

“You know, you look so cute right now. There’s a lot I could do with you like this. So very...vulnerable.” He looked back at the drill lying on the floor by his side. She followed his gaze, fresh fear in her gut threatening to reject her meager breakfast but he shook his head, as if to say “Maybe that’s enough of the drill.” He looked around the room, tapping his lip thoughtfully with an extra screw. “Hm...now what..”, he mumbled to himself. Then suddenly his eyes lit up with an idea. She watched him dully as he returned to his worktable and rummaged around in the drawers.

Her ears were ringing and her vision was becoming unfocused. She glanced listlessly to the side and noticed the blood slowly drip down to her shoulder, wondering what fresh hell Strade would conjure up next.

VIII. Something Syndrome

“Ahaah! Here we go!” Strade came back, practically skipping. She squinted at the contraption in his hands, unable to identify it at first, but once he plugged it in to a nearby outlet and it whirred to life she suddenly understood. She had taken wood shop in college and would recognize the loud, mechanical roar of a belt-sander anywhere. She swallowed thickly. What was he going to do with _that_? She winced at the sound, her head beginning to ache.

Strade turned it off and crouched down beside her, reaching for her ankle. He then lifted her foot up so that it was resting on his knee. “Strade, whatever you’re going to do...just please...don’t...”, she begged. She was so tired. He playfully wiggled one of her toes.

“Aw..why should your hands have all the fun? We need to show your pretty little feet some love too!”

He held the belt sander a mere few inches away from the sole of her foot and powered it up. She jerked her leg back reflexively but he held fast to her ankle, steadily moving the belt closer to her tensing foot just below the root of her toes. It was close enough that she could feel the rushing wind from the rapidly rotating belt and the vibration of the machinery. Strade was breathing hard, beginning to sweat and grinning maniacally. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. As the belt finally made contact, the top layers of skin on her foot were instantly stripped away, leaving the area a red, raw mess of flesh and she made a sound that caused Strade to perk up like a predator spotting an unsuspecting prey. All she had heard in that brief but awful moment was static.

His pupils dilated and his tongue grazed over his bared canines. He briefly pressed the belt sander a bit harder against her foot then powered it down, simply staring at her. His golden eyes were burning, boring holes into her skull. She stifled a cry of pain, afraid to make any more noise.

“Did you just...moan?”, he asked, his voice low-pitched and breathy.

She suddenly panicked. Had she though? All she knew was pain. Pain in her aching wrists and shoulders, in her ruined hands pinned against the beam, and now her foot which was currently skinned raw and bleeding after the flaying by his belt-sander. She supposed it was entirely possible. The way Strade was looking at her, dazed with his growing lust, was making her feel warm and strange. He had looked at her that way in his living room when he kissed her for the first time and she almost smiled thinking of it.

Now there was a word for that, she thought. Something syndrome. Copenhagen Syndrome? No, that’s not it. She was about to remember the correct Scandinavian city when Strade suddenly dropped the belt sander on the floor and pounced onto her lap, crushing his lips against hers viciously, as if he was trying to devour her from the inside out through her mouth. His hands were all over the place, grabbing and squeezing hungrily wherever he touched.

“You liked that, didn’t you, _schätzchen?_ ”, he panted, pulling slightly away from the kiss, a tiny trail of spit connecting his mouth to hers. “I think you are starting to like it when I hurt you. When I make you...mm... _bleed_..”, he growled, emphasizing the last word by digging his nails into her soft, supple flesh. He leaned down and bit into the side of her neck, gliding his warm tongue across her collarbone and then up her arm, tasting the blood from her stigmata-like wounds. She moaned again, this time because she wanted to. For him.

“Ahhh...maybe!?” Her voice was high and frantic.

“I must say...that is a bit..unexpected.”, Strade admitted, pressing up against her and dragging his hands roughly all the way down her sides to rest on her hips. She could feel how hard he was, and realized with hazy awareness that it was making her wet.

“...but it’s a nice surprise”, he finished, and suddenly jammed three fingers all the way up into her warm, slick pussy, scissoring them around inside of her. 

“Ahhhnn, ohh my _god_! Strade!!", she cried out his name and tossed her head back, as he mercilessly violated her for the second time. He was breathing loudly into the crook of her neck and rubbing himself against her, worked up into a frenzy. The impact of his palm slamming against her pelvis and the movement of his body against hers was rocking her back against the beam slightly, causing bright, glassy pains to shoot downward from her skewered hands.

“I knew it...you really _do_ enjoy the pain, huh?.... _wie interessant.._ ” He stopped, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to her panting, slightly parted lips. She sucked on them greedily, lost in the moment, and he wrapped one hand around her throat. He leaned in to kiss her again with surprising force, tasting her wetness on his tongue. He then pulled away, both of them gasping, and gazed deeply into her half-lidded eyes. She thought to herself that he almost looked lovesick and she longed to be able to touch his face with her own two hands.

“Wait here, Y/N, I want to try something. I bet you’ll like this even more..” He licked his lips and headed back to the table, pulling open another drawer. He returned with a medium-sized object that appeared to be made of wood, letting out a sharp, sinister laugh upon seeing her questioning stare.

“Hahhhh....This will be so..much... _fun_.” He was getting even more worked up than he already was, practically vibrating with chaotic energy. His voice rose in pure excitement as he scooped up the power-drill from the floor and drove the bit into the bottom of the wood and he proudly held up his creation for her to get a better look. Her jaw dropped in abject horror, the fleeting tender moment between them forgotten.

"What do you think? I made it myself!"

It was a block of wood that had been meticulously carved into the shape of a scarily realistic human cock, she could even see slightly raised ridges that resembled veins. Essentially, Strade had made a wooden dildo. She was speechless, unable to take her eyes off of it.

She tilted her head. Truthfully, it wasn’t even that big. Strade’s was far more imposing in all aspects, the one time she was...acquainted with it, but the fact that this one was made of rough, no-doubt splintery... _wood?_ It made her skin crawl thinking about how it would feel if he used it on her. But who was she kidding, there was no “if” about it. She began to feel too hot all over despite the chilly temperature of the basement and her own lack of clothing. Maybe she was getting just as excited as he was. Holy shit, she thought, the very idea scaring her. Who _was_ she anymore, even?

Strade loomed overhead, fixing her with a psychotic, wide-eyed stare. His face was flushed and feverish, his hair a sweaty, tangled mess, and there was a tiny string of saliva dripping from the corner of his partially-open, panting mouth. He tugged hard at the collar of his button-up shirt, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each hot, heavy breath he took. He looked her up and down, noting with perverse pleasure that her entire body was shaking, a deer-in-the-headlights look on her upturned face and her quivering legs spread invitingly. His expression turned downright evil, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a wet, blood-thirsty grin.

He tried the trigger on the power-drill a few times, testing it out like he was revving an engine. He could hardly wait to take his little pet for a ride.

_“Schreit für mich.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading my twisted little tale as much as I did writing it. There will be more to come! If you have any ideas, please let me know. I do crave feedback and validation for these fucked-up ramblings that come pouring out of my skull. <3
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> unhöfliches Mädchen - rude girl
> 
> kätzchen - kitten
> 
> mein haustier - my pet
> 
> schatz - treasure
> 
> schätzchen - baby, honey, darling (I like to use this one when Strade gets, um...."worked up."
> 
> Wie interessant. - How interesting.
> 
> Schreit für mich. - Scream for me.


	3. Oh, the Horror of Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Miss Protagonist falls hard for Strade. He just thinks it's kind of funny.

IX. Another Hole (and another)

“Hey. Stay lively, buddy. We’re not done here.”

She wasn’t sure what brought her back to the surface first. Was it the shrieking buzz of the power-drill, or the crush of Strade’s steel-toed boot stomping on her ankle and grinding its heel into the bone? Either way, Y/N was now fully awake and aware, but gazing blearily down at her lap. A deadening numbness was beginning to slither into the many different varieties of pain that her body had been experiencing over the last couple of days. She cringed at the feel of him prying the nails out of her right hand and arm, slowly, methodically. Making sure it hurt just the right amount. She heard them hit the concrete floor one by one until her arm was freed. Clink…Clink…Clink.

Strade was gripping her wrist to stop it from falling limply from its place on the beam. She yelped in pained surprise, lifting her head in time to see him prodding the small, bloody puncture wound in the center of her palm with the tip of the grotesque wooden phallus attached to the drill. His yellow eyes were over-bright, totally concentrated on trying to make the hole bigger. They were both breathing heavily in the dank, stifling basement, a heady mix of adrenaline, exhaustion, and (especially on his part) unabashed arousal, hanging thick in the stagnant air. She cleared her throat, addressing him by name as loud as she could muster. He glanced up at her suddenly, as if surprised to see her still there.

“Ah..so you decided to join me after all, _ja?_ Welcome back!”

She chose her next words carefully, afraid to get him overexcited again.

“What are you…doing? To my hand?”

She visibly tensed up at the horrid, stretching sensation of the wood digging its way through her flesh, parting sinew, muscle, and crackling bone matter. She could feel the wood splintering into the sides of the hole from the sheer force of it trying to push through. She looked away, nauseated. It was torture…though she supposed that was Strade’s whole deal, after all.

He paused the drill, the corner of his mouth twitching up into an unstable, crooked smile. “Haha...you see..I realized I couldn’t use this fun little toy in the way I originally intended..” he explained, then seeing her confused expression, added “Oh, trust me, _liebling_ , I _wanted_ to..but then I wouldn’t be able to ah…” he searched for the right way to put it. “…well, you know!”

He giggled at his own non-existent joke, pressing the trigger once more and she screamed like there was broken glass stuck in her throat as the wooden tip began to protrude from the back of her hand. She wondered if she would ever be able to use it again. Good thing she was a lefty, she thought bitterly.

“ _Ahh_ …hahaHA..there it goes!”, Strade exclaimed breathily, blood and bits of flesh spraying all over his face and the front of his already-stained shirt as it came spiraling off the drill. He leaned closer, studying her shredded hand as he began to move the wooden appendage suggestively in and out of the gore-ridden hole. It made a sick, squelching sound as it slid around. Y/N’s hoarse cries complemented the whine of the drill, sweet music to his ears, and he hummed tunelessly as he worked.

Then he abruptly dropped her wrist, leaving the drill impaling it the only support, and fumbled with his zipper, freeing his cock, still painfully hard and needing his attention, or hers. He wasted no time grabbing the back of her head and thrusting into her open, screaming mouth, shuddering violently at the welcome tightness of her throat. He licked his lips, tasting her blood, and stilled for just a moment to listen to her choking as she tried to swallow around his huge, pulsing length. He looked down at her face, tear-filled, bloodshot eyes gazing pleadingly.. _lovingly_ up at him, totally submissive. Totally broken. He thought to himself that she looked so perfect just like that. He could get used to this.

Strade yanked the drill roughly from her hand, rocking it from side to side to free the wood catching on her torn flesh, and re-positioned it over the hole in her forearm. She let out a muffled scream and shook her head desperately as he repeated the same, arduously slow process of grinding through the ruined flesh and muscle, creating another orifice for him to abuse. At the same time, he fucked into her mouth hard and fast, watching her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her own vocalizations were rippling a delicious vibration up and down his thick shaft, making him shake with pleasure. He began to lose focus, letting the drill slip. At some point his movements got so careless trying to work his way through her arm wound that the wooden bit fell off, coated in blood and gristle to the floor, allowing naked metal to finish tearing through to the other side with sickening ease.

As the drill-bit popped through with an audible crunch, he fluttered his eyelids in bliss, biting his lower lip. Wrenching it out, he dropped it to the floor and raised her arm close to his face. As he peered right through it, he was reminded of a gory Halloween decoration he saw once, so ravaged and bloody that it seemed fake. He pushed his drooling tongue deep into the messy, ragged hole, greedily consuming her blood and flicking at the destroyed muscle and tendons. It all tasted so sweet to him and he couldn’t get enough. Her blood was dripping from his mouth and chin like iced cream that was melting too fast.

“Ohhh… _fuck, schätzchen_ …you feel so good…I promise you, if you survive this..I’ll give you a reward. How would you like that, huh?” He smiled down at her, open-mouthed and showing teeth stained a deep red, his heavy-lidded eyes fogged up with steaming hot lust. Her own eyelids were drooping dangerously low, one squeezed shut against dripping blood, as he pulverized her throat repeatedly with his cock. Impatient for a reaction he grabbed her face, leaving red smears like she was wearing too much blush.

“You deserve it, _meine liebe_.”

X. Reward

Strade slammed into her mouth one more time, the back of her head thumping painfully against the beam behind her, as he came hard down her throat. He cradled her face in his hands for a minute, riding out his release like a wave and slowly slid out. More of his hot, sticky cum oozed from between her sore, swollen lips, dribbling down onto her chest and she immediately gasped, coughing uncontrollably. After fixing himself up, he crouched down to her level and clapped her on the back proudly, causing her to cough harder.

“You did it, buddy! What a trooper!” She managed a small, uncertain smile at his words of praise as the coughing subsided and they both turned their attention to the gaping, gory holes in her right hand and arm. She winced as she saw blood leak heavily from the ugly wounds. He pet her head, reassuringly.

“Aw, don’t worry, I’ll take care of those for you. You’ll be good as new in no time!” He smiled sweetly, his breathing now calm and even. He bandaged her up expertly, occasionally petting her hair to comfort her as he went along. She thought to herself that he was very much like an abusive boyfriend, damaging her body and mind, only to fill the resulting empty void left by his hands, his tools, and his knives, with cloying artificial sweetness and false concern. It made her sick. It made her _melt_. She realized with a kind of creeping, black horror that she might actually need him. Maybe not love, but desperately _need_. Strade spoke to her as he tended to her injuries. There were a lot of them and so there was plenty of time for him to talk, and for her to listen.

“You know, Y/N,” he began as he wrapped medical tape around her shattered left thumb, “I feel like I know you so well now..your likes, dislikes…what scares you…what _turns you on_ …” He emphasized this last point by pitching his voice low and pulling the tape a little too tightly, pressing on the drill hole with his fingertips. She hissed in a breath, but kept her eyes on his. She found herself wanting to keep looking at his face.

“You and I…it seems we have a lot in common. More than I thought we would.” He chuckled a little, shaking his head. “That’s not ah…something I see very often. As you can probably guess.”

He finished up by disinfecting the bottom of her foot, pressing a rag soaked in rubbing alcohol to the raw spot where the belt sander made contact. It was agony, but she was too tired to scream much anymore. He looked up at her, making no move to restrain her again. He knew he didn’t have to. Instead, he continued on, casually.

“I know it’s only been a couple of days, but this kind of approach to…getting to know a new friend…it ah, _accelerates_ things, _ja?_ Speeds up the process.” He studied her face, trying to read her thoughts.

"You surprised me, needless to say. After all, you’re still alive. Not even begging me to end it!” He let out a sharp bark of a laugh.

“Who knew you’d be so… _interesting_.”

Y/N just sat there in a stupor, her bandaged arms dead weight in her lap. The sharp pain from the many puncture wounds were now beginning to dull down to a twinging ache. The skinned sole of her foot burned from the alcohol, and her throat burned all the way down from the brutal fucking it endured…but her heart only felt warm. Her mind felt soft, calm. She felt like she could just drift peacefully off to sleep listening to the sound of his voice. She wondered with vague concern if she had been losing too much blood, but it was ok. From the way he was looking at her, Strade wouldn’t let that happen anytime soon.

“Now. I promised you I’d give you a reward. I’m a man of my word, so I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you what _ever_ you want.”

Her expression remained largely unchanged though her eyebrows lifted slightly. He leaned in closer to her face, his fingers running lightly over the clean, new bandages.

“No, I’m not letting you go…”, he giggled a little. “…if that’s what you were thinking. Although…something tells me you don’t really want that anyway…do you?”

He licked off a spot of blood that had sprayed onto her face near her lips and his eyes widened in mild surprise when she kissed him, weakly, but with unmistakable intent.

“I want…I…w-want…” she stuttered, searching his eyes as if she could find the words she was looking for in his gaze, her small voice shaky. Strade just smirked, enjoying watching her struggle, smugly arching an eyebrow in amusement. He had broken this girl down so completely. He had cut up and violated her body in a number of ways, tearing scream after scream from her lungs while he essentially just pointed and laughed. In fact, he felt like laughing right now. After all that, she was still looking at him earnestly, like she was preparing to confess her undying love for him. It was adorable and pathetic. Hilarious.

He could feel himself getting worked up all over again just looking at her, sliding his eyes up and down her scarred-up, bruised, and heavily-bandaged body, so soft and vulnerable, and very much _open_ for him to do with as he saw fit. He gave her arm a rough squeeze, encouraging her to continue.

“What is it, _liebling?_ …tell me what you want..I’ll give it to you..I _p r o m i s e._..”, he purred, dragging out the last word like a knife through raw meat. He ran a hand through her hair, tugging harshly at the tangles.

“I want..y-you..want to stay with you. Here.”, she finally finished, her words coming out a little slurred. His smile widened, baring his glistening canines.

“ _Ohhh?_ Are you _sure_ about that? You want to stay with me because you want me to… _hurt_ you? Over and over and _over_ again?” His eyes had narrowed into burning slits, barely containing his glee. This was getting good.

"Because you love it, am I right? ...It really.... _gets you off_." All self-control in Strade's mind was quickly going out the door. There may as well have been cartoon hearts in his eyes.

She gulped, meekly nodding her head like a puppet on a string.

“…Scheiße..”, Strade muttered under his breath. God, he was so hard.

XI. _Liebeskummer_

“I think I can make that happen for you, buddy.”, he whispered against her lips. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, twisting her body to the side and shoving her down on the floor. Her back hit the concrete with a thud, the wind knocked out of her briefly. A second later he was on her, smothering her lips, her neck, her breasts with his hungry mouth, more an act of cannibalism than foreplay. She lay mostly still, arms over her head, mewling and moaning as he bit down on her soft skin with his sharp teeth. He yanked his head back, tearing a strip of flesh from the spot where her neck met her shoulder and licking at the blood that ran down into the hollow of her clavicle. It hurt like hell, but it felt so good at the same time. Wherever he hurt her, his warm tongue was the healing salve she needed to balance out the pain with the pleasure. She kind of hated that he was right.

He snarled like a predator defending its kill, the blood from his mouth covering her neck as he nuzzled into her. “ _Mmm_ …ahhhnn…yes, Strade.. _more_...!”, she cried out his name again and again, clinging desperately to it because she was too far gone now to remember her own.

_"Lust auf mehr, Süße?",_ he hissed, his breath hot in her ear and raked his nails down from her ribcage to her hips, reopening several of yesterday’s tentatively healing cuts.

_"Du wirst alles nehmen, was ich zu geben habe."_

Before she had time to wonder what the hell he was saying, he had buried himself inside of her with one harsh thrust, no warning given. She screamed long and loud as their hips connected with a wet smack and he quickly worked his way up to a deliberate, unforgiving pace. He wrapped his hand around her throat, reminding himself to be careful. This pet was special and he wanted to try and make her last. Still, he applied enough pressure to leave dark, purple marks in a ring around her slender neck just because he liked the way she looked with more bruises. He pushed her thighs wider apart and gnawed at the shell of her ear, panting through his teeth. She gasped loudly, feeling as if she was coming undone at the seams beneath him.

“Is this…what you wanted, _schatz?_ …Ahh…You are just like me, you know that? Got a few screws loose…I just _love_ that about you..” he growled, fucking her even harder, her lower back scraping painfully against the floor and rubbing the skin raw. He relaxed his grip on her throat so that he could hear her sputtering cries as air filled her lungs back up, and then reached down to her leg, spidering his fingers over the line of stitches on the top of her thigh, feather-light. His gentle touch turned vicious as he suddenly started tearing at the threads, pulling them up and out with alarming force. He spread the wound wide open, letting fresh blood rush over his hand in a warm, red fountain. 

Her moaning elevated to a high, breathless shriek as he dug his hand deep into the gash, ripping through the meat of her thigh as if he was trying to find something, perhaps a memento of their twisted union. 

Gritting her teeth against the searing pain, she reached up with some effort and grabbed onto his back as her orgasm unexpectedly hit her like a runaway train, shockwaves of pleasure wracking her whole body as he continued to ram into her hard enough to make her eyeballs rattle in her skull. A guttural sound of satisfaction rumbled up from his chest, low and sinister, as he smeared the blood from her mangled thigh all over her stomach and chest then forced two fingers into her mouth while she moaned around them incoherently. They were now both covered in it, writhing against one other in a grisly portrait of morbid romance.

He finished inside of her moments later, his final shuddering moan trailing off into breathless laughter. He really was a fucking monster.

Collapsing on top of her with a sigh, he stroked her hair with a hand caked in her own gore, his forehead pressed against hers. She closed her eyes, content, and he giggled softly.

“Didn’t I tell you I might let you cum this time?”

XII. Survival Ending

Strade stood leaning against his worktable, lost in thought and watching Y/N closely as she rubbed gingerly at the deep bruises in her neck. She was an absolute disaster to look at and he knew the merciful thing to do would be to just put her out of her misery. Besides, how much more fun could he really squeeze out of this one? He toyed with the idea as she slumped against the beam, head lolling on her shoulders, a lock of H/C hair covering one eye.

He could easily open one more, larger hole on her somewhere and just not stitch it up like he did for the others. Hell,he could probably even make her do it to herself while he watched, he thought, a sadistic smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He imagined how she would look slicing her own throat with his favorite knife and felt chills run down his spine. It was certainly tempting. _Or_ he could set up his camera and make a real show of it for his loyal subscribers. He was sure they would pay well to hear her dying screams, the sick fucks. Still, neither plan sparked his interest and so he decided on the third option.

She gazed up at him, her tired eyes struggling to focus as he approached her with an unfamiliar, cylindrical object in his hands. It caught the light and she saw that it was made of metal. It looked pretty heavy. He opened it with a click, and carefully clasped it around her neck. She righted herself, reaching her hands up to touch it, testing its weight.

“….What’s this?”, she asked him nervously. He grinned, feeling a bit giddy.

“You said you wanted to stay with me, so…you get to wear this special collar! Aren’t you lucky?”

She cleared her throat. “Why?..What is…what does it do?”

“If you are a good girl and you always do as I say, it won’t hurt you.”, Strade explained. “But! If you don’t, or you try to run away from me… _well_ …it’s electric. I’m sure you can figure it out from there.”, he chuckled darkly, leaning down and running his thumb over her lower lip.

"It looks so nice on you..."

“Oh…”, she responded simply, a bit shocked, but she understood.

He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, draping it over her trembling shoulders and she pulled it tight around her, grateful for the warmth. Had she just agreed to essentially become Strade’s pet? His _property?_ It seemed that way. She felt both excited and repulsed by the idea at the same time. He playfully ruffled her rat's nest of hair, and pulled her close.

“Just think about it! Now you can come upstairs with me and sleep in a bed, eat real food, watch some TV…and..Oh! I've got lots of _movies_ I want to show you..Ah, _liebling,_ we’re going to have _such_ a good time together...and I bet Ren will really like you too!", he continued to muse happily about the fun they would have, his eyes sparkling with child-like wonder.

She tried to thank him for deciding to spare her life, but there was something in that sparkle that was a bit off-putting. Was this what she really wanted? She supposed at this point she had no choice and she was too exhausted to be afraid, despite now knowing that Strade's definition of "fun" was a little...different. So she allowed herself to melt passively into his arms, resting her aching head on his bare chest. He hoisted her up off of the floor, squeezing her around the waist possessively and digging his fingers into her many bruises.

"No need to worry, _meine liebchen_...I'll take _good_ care of you!"

She flinched when she heard the clanging sound of a heavy chain attaching to her collar and Strade gave it an impatient tug, forcing her to look up at him. That same bright, beaming smile had quite the different meaning now than when they first met at the cafe' however many days ago. She couldn't really remember. 

Finally, she smiled back. She was home now, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that all for now? May-bee...but who knows? A lot can go on outside "the shop." Again, feedback always welcome! Even if you just tell me I'm a sick fuck, I'll still appreciate it. <3
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> schätzchen - baby
> 
> mein liebe - my love
> 
> Scheiße - Shit
> 
> Lust auf mehr, Süße? - You want more, sweetie?
> 
> Du wirst alles nehmen, was ich zu geben habe. - You will take all that I have to give.
> 
> schatz - treasure
> 
> meine liebchen - my darling, sweetheart


End file.
